Edward's Backstory
by m0nica
Summary: My in-detail version of Edward's death and transition! Sticks with book plot!
1. Chapter 1

Edward sat on his Chicago porch, rocking back in forth in his chair. He lifted his glass of iced tea to his lips, turning the page in his copy of _My Antonia._

"You have made a lot of progress in that book of yours, Edward" Margaret smiled, topping off his glass. She sat in the chair next to him and hesitated, waiting for him to look back at her. She started for a minute, waiting for him to look away from his book. She noticed the hollowness of his cheeks and the paleness of his skin. As much as it hurt her, Edward was getting sicker and sicker. She knew he was faking his health to protect her, but they both knew that he was ill. She feared the worst: the flu. She watched him hold his breath to stifle a cough. She could see the sweat glistening on his forehead from his fever, his stomach thinning from the nausea. She stared at him longingly, as if the more she wanted it to be true the more likely he was to survive. The two had recently started courting but Margaret's feelings for him were strong. She knew in her heart that Edward did not love her, but cared about her nonetheless. Edward had always believed in the idea of soul mates and having one true love, but he never said that she was his. Maybe It was too early, maybe he just never saw her as that, or maybe he never let himself because of his eminent death—Margaret was not sure. She wondered if they would've had a future if he wasn't dying, but it broke her heart to even think about that. She had to let him go. Her father had already been scouting other bachelors in town for her to eventually marry, but she knows in her heart that she may not fall in love after Edward.

Finally, Edward set down his book. He met Margaret's gaze and she looked down. He rested his hand on hers, lightly stroking her hand with his thumb. She remained quiet for a moment before gathering up the courage to say, "How are you feeling, Edward?"

"Picture of health" Edward teased, visibly fighting back a cough. Margaret shot him a desperate look, pleading with him to be honest.

"Edward, have you been back to the doctor?"

Edward thought for a moment, "Margaret, there is very little even the best of doctors can do for me."

Tears formed in Margaret's eyes, "There has to be something."

Edward met her gaze, "Margaret, you have many suitors. You will find a suitable husband, this I swear to you." He was as sincere as ever. Margaret's tears began to fall. She knew he was right, but she didn't want to meet anyone else. Her heart was shattered. She had to let go of the only man she ever really felt for. She looked up at Edward, her eyes searing with pain. Edward grabbed her hand again and gave her a sympathetic look. He had accepted his fate days ago. He had this closure that he knew Margaret couldn't have. Edward watched for days as his body failed him. He had no choice but to accept it. Margaret still had a sliver of hope that Edward would survive, unlike the countless others who lost their lives in Chicago alone because of the disease. Margaret held on to her dreams of her an Edward on their wedding day, her and Edward having a family, while Edward wasn't sure if he ever saw that at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Edward didn't want to die, but he had accepted it. He had already lost his parents. Margaret was really all he had left, but he knew in his heart that she was far less alone than he was. Margaret had her family, her friends, and even her looks and her money to keep her from ever being alone. She was absolutely stunning and she had the kindest heart Edward had yet to encounter. Edward was lucky to have even earned her affections even if her feelings were never reciprocated. He knew he didn't love her, and part of him knew that she didn't truly love him either. She cared for him and she didn't want him to die, but Edward was comforted in his knowledge that she would be okay.

Only days later Edward was lying in a medical tent. There were nearly two dozen beds, but only two were filled. He was feverish and nothing but skin and bones. He was too weak to move his body. His skin sunk into his cheeks as he opened his mouth to speak to the woman in the bed beside him, "I think Dr. Cullen has taking a liking for you."

The woman, Esme, coughed in response. She was yet to be as weak as Edward, but she was declining quickly. Neither of them had a chance of survival, but unlike Edward she had yet to accept this. She was extremely optimistic; the polar opposite of Edward. She brought life into the room that was the epitome of death. Edward was thankful that she made the last days of his life so pleasant.

Edward's decline came quickly. He laid in his bed, completely unable to move. Dr. Cullen tried to make his death as comfortable as possible. Esme was heartbroken. She had no family of her own, but she had taken a strong liking to the boy. She had bonded with him for the last few weeks of his life, and she wanted nothing more than to see him survive.

Edward took a hard, pained breath and shut his eyes.

"Edward?" Esme whispered. Silence.

"Edward?" Esme called louder. He was still.

"No! Edward! Please, Carlisle, do something, please!" she cried out. Dr. Cullen ran to her side.

"Esme…" he breathed, not knowing what to say to ease her pain. She was hysterical, begging him to do something. Dr. Cullen felt her pain. He, too, had developed a strong connection to the both of them. Over these last few weeks he had grown strong feelings for Esme, and knew that if he didn't act soon he would lose her.

She flailed and cried, continuing to beg Carlisle to save Edward. He paused, but he knew what he had to do. He ran to Edward's side at lightening speed, piercing his sharp, venomous teeth into Edward's neck with speed untraceable to Esme's eyes. Edward's eyes opened wide and he yelled out in pain. His body was on fire. He felt as if his organs were pushing against his skin, desperately fighting to break free. Every breath he took was pure fire. He couldn't even scream. He was in pure agony. He had absolutely no idea what was going on with him. He thought that death was painless. He anxiously waited for death.


End file.
